Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

“ M om,” Natalie cut her off. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Marcus is my boss. And I just met him.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Eleanor said innocently. “Though since you brought it up...”

“I didn’t bring it up. You did.”

“Well, since we’re on the subject?—“

“We’re not.”

“—I just want you to know that if something were to develop between you and Marcus, your father and I would be completely supportive.”

Natalie sat up straight. “Okay, now I know something’s going on. Since when do you not have an opinion about my love life? Or a list of eligible bachelors you want me to meet?”

“I told you, I’m done with matchmaking.”

“Right. And I’m done with scientific research to become a professional juggler.”

Eleanor sighed. “Can’t a mother simply want her daughter to be happy?”

“Not when that mother is you,” Natalie said bluntly. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing! Though... hypothetically speaking, if you were interested in Marcus...”

“Mom.”

“Which you clearly are...”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying, a mother notices these things. The way you talk about him, the little smile in your voice?—“

“I do not have a smile in my voice!”

“And from what Lillian tells me, the chemistry between you two is quite remarkable. Though I suppose that’s appropriate, given your profession.”

“That was terrible,” Natalie groaned. “You’re as bad as Chelsea with the science puns.”

“Speaking of Chelsea, she mentioned something about Spring Break photos?”

“And on that note, I’m hanging up,” Natalie announced. “Some of us have work tomorrow.”

“With tall, dark, and handsome shifters who rent out entire restaurants?”

“Good-bye, Mom.”

“Use protection, dear!”

“Oh my God.” Natalie ended the call, her face burning. But something about the conversation nagged at her. Her mother’s unusual restraint, the lack of pushing about other potential suitors... it was suspicious.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: Home safe?

Yes, she typed back. Though my mother just called to ask about you.

Three dots appeared as he typed. Should I be worried?

Normally, yes. But she’s acting weird. She’s NOT trying to set me up with anyone.

Is that unusual?

For my mother? It’s like the sun rising in the west.

Another pause. Perhaps she simply approves of your current... situation.

Natalie’s heart skipped. And what situation would that be?

Get some sleep, Natalie. Sweet dreams.

She stared at her phone, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Whatever game her mother was playing, whatever was developing between her and Marcus... it could wait until tomorrow. For now, she had the memory of his lips on her forehead, the solid warmth of his presence, and the promise of seeing him again in the morning.

Though she really was going to kill Lillian for telling their mother about the growling thing.

Natalie tossed her phone aside and padded to the kitchen, her mind spinning with the events of the day. The countertops gleamed in the soft lighting, and she found herself absently touching her forehead where Marcus’s lips had been. Even that brief contact had sent electricity through her entire body.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Marcus: Your heart rate is elevated again.

She nearly dropped the glass of water she’d been pouring. Are you seriously monitoring me from outside my building?

Security protocols.

That’s still disturbing.

Would it help if I said I can’t stop thinking about you either?

Heat bloomed in her chest. Before she could respond, another message came through:

The way you smell when you’re flustered. How your pulse jumps when I’m near. The little sighs you try to hide when I’m close.

Natalie’s fingers trembled as she typed: That’s not helping with the creepy factor.

No? She could practically hear his amused tone. What about how badly I wanted to kiss you tonight?

“Oh God,” she whispered to her empty kitchen. Her phone buzzed again:

I can hear you, you know.

GET OUT OF MY BUILDING, MARCUS.

His response was immediate: Not a chance. Get some sleep, Dr. Grant. I’ll see you in the morning.

Despite her protests, warmth spread through her chest at his protectiveness. She moved to her bedroom window and peeked through the curtains. Sure enough, a black SUV was parked across the street, its occupant clearly visible in the streetlight.

She fired off one last text: Stalking is illegal in all 50 states.

So is hacking security systems. Sweet dreams, troublemaker.

Shaking her head, Natalie changed into her favorite oversized MIT T-shirt and sleep shorts. As she went through her nighttime routine, her mother’s weird behavior kept nagging at her. Eleanor Grant had never, in Natalie’s entire adult life, passed up an opportunity to meddle in her love life. The fact that she wasn’t pushing some eligible bachelor’s resume at her now was... concerning.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Lillian: So did tall, dark & growly kiss you goodnight?

No. And thanks for telling Mom about dinner.

Someone had to! And don’t change the subject. No kiss?

Natalie hesitated, then replied: He kissed my forehead.

Three dots appeared immediately, followed by: OMG THAT’S EVEN BETTER. That’s some serious shifter-claiming behavior.

What? No it’s not. Is it?

Girl, you’re supposed to be the genius. Figure it out.

I hate you.

No you don’t. You love me enough to name your first shifter baby after me.

I’m blocking your number.

Worth it! Sweet dreams, sis. Don’t forget to thank me at your wedding.

Natalie groaned and flopped onto her bed. Between her mother’s suspicious behavior, Chelsea and Lillian’s relentless teasing, and Marcus’s... everything, her mind was too wired to sleep. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, still smell his woodsy cologne...

Her phone lit up one final time: I can still hear your heartbeat. Sleep, Natalie. I’ve got you.

And somehow, despite everything, that was exactly what she needed to hear. Curling up under her covers, Natalie drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face, knowing that a very protective, very attractive alpha was keeping watch.

Her last conscious thought was that maybe, just maybe, her mother’s sudden hands-off approach made sense. After all, how could any setup compare to a brooding billionaire shifter who rented out restaurants and kissed foreheads like it was a religious experience?

But she was still going to kill Lillian in the morning.